


Goodnight Sweetheart

by afinecollector (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly - Freeform, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Cute, Fluff, Gen, Kid!Lock, Kidlock, PWP, Sweet, Toddler Sherlock, Young Sherlock, fraternal love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9489674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/afinecollector
Summary: It's Sunday evening, and Mycroft settles his three year old brother into bed.





	

"Mikey..." 

Mycroft turned from his desk, crooking his left eyebrow at the sight of his three and a half year old brother hanging upside down over the edge of his bed. Sherlock was in his pyjamas, ready to settle down for the night in the physical sense but far from actually being tired enough to sleep. Instead, he'd been bugging his big brother for the past half an hour. Mycroft couldn't help smiling, though, at the smattering of freckles that were somehow clearer against the redness of Sherlock's cheeks and forehead from being upside down, and the way his pyjama top rode up towards his chest and revealed his pale belly and tiny tummy button, with the edge of his nighttime security nappy peeking out of the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. "Yes?" Mycroft finally answered him, and got to his feet. He crossed the small distance from his desk to the bed and plonked himself down, attacking Sherlock with tickles as he did so, smiling brightly at the squealing giggles it drew from Sherlock's throat. "What could you possibly have to ask me now!?" he provoked, teasing, not ceasing his wandering fingers across Sherlock's bare belly and up into his armpits. 

Sherlock's squeals intensified as Mycroft caught the exact spot along his ribcage that truly made him squirm. "Stop!" he squeaked out, kicking his feet and pinching his fingers against Mycroft's hands to no real success. "I'm gonna wee!" 

Mycroft laughed and drew back his assault, instead capturing Sherlock's wrists to wrench the boy up onto the mattress, and allowed him to flop down with little ceremony onto the stacked pillows. "C'mon then, what did you want to ask?" 

"Can I sleep in here tonight?" Sherlock said, pushing himself to sit up. His cheeks remained red, and his curls were mussed and sticking out in silly directions, endearing his big brother to him more. 

Mycroft shook his head, "Not tonight, Sherlock. It's Sunday - I have to go to school in the morning." 

Sherlock's bottom lip stuck out, "But why?" 

"Because that's what children do; we go to school, Mummy's and Daddy's go to work..." Mycroft explained. 

"Mummy doesn't go to work," Sherlock cut across his brother, "She stays here and makes me cheese and marmite sandwiches." 

Mycroft laughed a little, mostly contained to a giggling exhale through his nose, "That's because some Mummy's stop working when they have babies." 

"Only some?" Sherlock asked, looking a little more sleepy than he had ten minutes ago. 

Mycroft nodded his head, "Some like to take a little time away from work, but then go back. They get a nanny to mind the babies." 

Sherlock crinkled his little nose, "Mummy won't go back to work though, will she? ...nobody will make my sandwiches." 

Mycroft scrubbed his left hand into Sherlock's curls, half tidying them, half making the nest of spirals worse. "No, Sherlock, Mummy will not go back to work. She likes spending time with you too much." 

Sherlock nodded, and his jaw stretched down as he yawned with a sigh. "When it's not Sunday, I can sleep in here again with you?" He asked, and rubbed his balled right fist into his eye, feeling overcome with tiredness. 

"When it's not Sunday," Mycroft agreed, and stepped down from the bed. He scooped Sherlock up and held him against his hip. "Shall I put you to bed?" 

Sherlock shook his head, but snuggled in against his brother, "I want Daddy to do it." 

"Daddy's working still - Mummy?" Mycroft offered. 

Sherlock twisted his mouth, "You do it." He agreed, and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck as the elder Holmes walked from the bedroom, crossing the vast hallway to Sherlock's nursery directly across. 

The room smelled of Sherlock - a kindling of baby and washing powder, of that smell Sherlock had all of his own, and of the air freshener that Mummy liked to spray, believing the lavender scent to help calm Sherlock into sleep of a nighttime. Sherlock's night light glowed lightly in the corner of the room on the blue dresser; the draws were messily closed, with socks and sleeves and trouser legs sticking out and preventing the draws from closing in completely. Mycroft carried Sherlock all the way to his bed and with one hand drew back the small quilt to slip Sherlock inside. 

Sherlock climbed easily from his brother's arms and cuddled in against his security blanket, immediately seeking out the silky label attached to the hem to pass between his fingers for comfort. Mycroft tucked Sherlock in lightly, wrapping the quilt around his small frame. He rubbed his hand across Sherlock's forehead, pushing the curls away from his face. "Night night," he said softly, drawing back his hand. 

Sherlock's eyes were already lulling. "Night...Mikey..." he said, sleepily. He was asleep before Mycroft had even left his bedroom.


End file.
